Priorsford (Historical Novel). O. Douglas

      CHAPTER I

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      'There's comfort for the comfortless And honey for the bee, And there's nane for me but you, my love, And there's nane for you but me.'

      Witch Wood.

      It was high summer in the Cotswold country, and the old house of Mintern Abbas dozed in the peace of the August afternoon.

      At its back, beyond the home-woods, was a remote land of sheep-walks and forgotten hamlets; at its feet the young Thames, in lazy reaches, wound through water-meadows. The house itself was of Cotswold stone, grey and bleak in rain, but in summer honey-coloured as if it had absorbed the sun. It was as much a part of the landscape as a boulder on the hill-side. Built in many periods and many styles, it had been so subtly blended by time that it seemed a perfect thing, without beginning, as long descended as the downs that sheltered it.

      The heat which had laid a spell on the place had evidently no effect on a group of children camped on a corner of the lawn sloping to the river. Two boys tumbled about with a cocker-spaniel puppy, while a fat little girl was absorbed in threading berries. On a wooden seat in the shade of the copper-beech their nurse sat sewing--a large woman with a broad comely face. Presently she spoke, and her voice sounded oddly in that English pleasaunce.

      'Mind, Peter, that wee dog'll bite ye. Dinna torment the puir thing.'

      Peter lay on his back holding the puppy suspended in the air.

      'He can't hurt, Ninny: his teeth are too young; besides, the Black Douglas likes being tormented.'

      'I

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